Red and White
by Anastasya Debbie
Summary: Bday fic. There shouldn't have been any freedom here. For there are no longer any freedom on this land. OC-centric. OC Indonesia. NetherxBelgium, onesided!NetherxOC. I'm sleepy. This is 5.30am in the morning as I'm posting this. Will repair. RnR!


**Disclamer: **Hetalia is not mine. I'm sleepy, so even my disclaimer sucks.

**Warning: **Indonesia!OC. OC-centric. Birthday fic. Shitty since this is fucking 5 am and I need to sleep. I'll correct later.

**A/N:** I'm writing for my (8th August) and my country's (17th August) birthdays~ I mean, who can resist the thought of writing for their own beloved country in a fandom like Hetalia? Sadly, not all fangirls have the privilege to since Himaruya decided to be an arse and ignores the piles of real, big countries in favour of creating more micro-nations. You know what? That's where this thing called an 'OC' comes in handy. No, sensei. I'm not going to wait any longer. You've dragged out Netherlands whom together with Japan once ruled Indonesia, yet you flattened our hopes by creating Wy and Seborga (GODDAMNIT HIMARUYA. WE'RE LIKE THE LARGEST COUNTRY IN EAST ASIA. THE FOURTH MOST POPULATED COUNTRY, AND THE ONE WHO FOUNDED ASEAN. YOU CAN TOTALLY SPOT US IN EVERY MAPS EASILY, RIGHT ON TOP OF AUSTRALIA. NOTICE US, DAMMIT!). Now I'll write and stop with the ranting. Go ahead and read, loves X3

* * *

Green.

It was the first thing the little boy saw when he opened his eyes. And for decades, it was the only thing together with blue. Green. Luscious, dark green sparkling with droplets of rain or dew water, together with blue. Clear, beautiful liquid sapphire glinting under the sunlight. The warm embrace of the sun while running across soft, grass covered field; the fleets of green and the scent of the rainforest when he jumps and climbs the mold-covered, sturdy trunks of tall, tall trees; the beautiful, beautiful animals peeking shyly from behind the branches; the most delicious, intoxicating fruits as much as one can eat, growing easily without needing any human's hands*; the colourful reefs and sea creatures underneath him inside warm, crystal clear sea water; the feel of white sands between his sun-kissed toes, on his flushed cheeks, on his elbows. Everywhere.

And he was happy.

God was he content, living like that in such a paradise.

_Ahh, poor, poor boy. But now you've learnt your lesson, haven't you? Now you've known. Happiness is never meant to last, dear. No. They'll be robbed off of you cruelly, then leaves you rotting in the darkness, blinded by the momentary bright light._

Then time passed. (_It's always time, isn't it? Always, always him. The almighty force that keeps this world going.)_ And lives comes and goes; People gone and went back to their homes; those who stayed died on his soil; memories, pleasant and not (_laughters. Laughters and smiles and flushing cheeks. Weeps and cries and screams. Pain!)_. People that are not his. Strange clothes, different skin, weird tounge and funny act. They taught him things.

And then, they* came.

People with strange hats and strange clothes and paler skin and big, scary swords and... and, and... And they hurts. It hurts. So, so much. Blood was spilled (_foreign. Some he knows not from his own. Strange, they're staining him.) _and head rolled (_beautiful, shining eyes of a son now nothing but an empty shadow._). Children cried and woman wept (Fathers_, sisters, brothers, mothers. No, no, no. DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!_). People starved, although it's the harvest season (_Blood. It filled the fields. Red, red fields as long as the eyes can see. Beautiful, isn't it?)_

His people. His people, his people! NO, NO, NO! Not them. Please, not his people! Screams and curses and clashes and weeps. They echo. It all echoes inside his small head, ringing in his ears. Pain. Excruciating pain shot up his spine. IT HURTS! Unbearable, unbearable. GUSTI*!

Then silver* came.

And it was all he can see.

It was spiky, surprisingly silky as he found out later on. Glinting under the sunlight, swaying lightly as the cool breeze of the beach blows a few strands off his pale face, showing a pair of striking green eyes under them. And this guy, he's different, thought the tiny little boy at that time. He was so, so mesmerized by the new young man (_beautiful, beautiful silver. Just like the moon at home.)_ that he didn't realize it when the man pointed a gun right between his eyes.

_Told you._

_

* * *

_

Is it a good thing or a bad thing? Imperialism that is. (_Controlling other countries, to degrade another human being, stealing and torturing and murder_.) And that was what our little boy caught himself thinking one sunny, hot day in Bandung. Our little boy, with his onyx eyes and reddish hair because of the sun, now has a name. _('I'm going to give you a name, since now you belong to me.', the silver haired man one day said nonchalantly without bothering to even spare the little boy a glance, inhaling smokes from the wooden pipe he always carry with him_.)

_Indische. Indiche he is now. And how our boy hate it. With all his heart, he despises it. That name that feels foreign to his tounge. 'Not mine, not mine', he thought. It was a symbol of belonging. Of slavery. The words arranged to illustrate the loss of his freedom._

His caloused hands grabbed a wet cloth he has placed nearby, and he started to clean the surface of the finely made desk. Using the back of his wrist to sweep away the sweat forming on his temple, he sighed to himself in exhaustion.

_In pain too. There's always the pain. It just worsens day by day. Except that the little boy has learnt to ignore it. Now, it's nothing more but a dull pain on the back of his mind. Now, all childhood is lost._

With ease, he scrubbed the smoothed surface until it was squeaky clean. Lifting the cloth up to take a look at his work, he smiled to himself. Obviously satisfied with the result. Well, his chore for the day is done. At least until the clothes are dried. It should be in a few hours though. The sun in his home is pretty fierce after all.

_And that was also what the silver-haired man said one sunny day. He was sitting there on his beloved armchair, drinking the tea the little boy made. Brows scrunched up in irritation at the temperature, he actually placed his pipe down, glancing at the cup and wishing that he can drink ice tea instead._

As he reached the ground where he dried the piles of clothes, he smiled gently up to the shining sun, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to protect them from blindness. He then ran lightly to take down the dried clothes from the ropes, closing his eyes as a cooler breeze hits his sun-kissed skin. He inhales deeply. It smells of the leaves, the wet soil, the forest around them. It smells of freedom.

_But then, there's nothing like 'freedom' on this land. No. Not anymore. Yet how could this cold breeze brought him such a delightful scent, one that should not exist here? Was it brought here, form a land far, far away where there are no people whom worth under the other? Was it from a land, where there are only green grasses that lays as long as one's feet can run to; or blue as long as one can ever see throughout their life?_

_

* * *

_

It shouldn't have mattered.

No. For the little boy, it shouldn't have.

But that was what happened anyway.

_That burning, twisting feel in your chest. That hurt and agony and betrayal painted all across your face. You know what it was._

The owls hoots and the crickets chirps. The whispers of the wind brought news from all across the land. It was a normal night. A night just like the others in the little boy's home. Except that right now, instead of falling asleep after doing Netherland's chores all day, he's rubbing his tired eyes with his tiny hands. Walking sleepily across the hallway. The chilly night wind seeps in through the not fully closed windows, not bothering the boy in the slightest.

_After all, he used to sleep in the open. On a comfy branch or on a wide grass field with nothing but the sky towering over him. No limits that he can't reach, no obstacles to halt his way. But that was a long, long time ago. In a time long, long forgotten where the boy is not Indische. Where there are no one owning his paradise. _

His steps were soundless, trying not to wake his 'older brother' up. A glass of water in hand, he sneaks to get back to his bed. That was, until he heard muffled noises somewhere in the house.

_Liar._

_You already knew what it really was. You knew._

_Liar._

Casting wary glances from right to left, he decided to ignore it and get back to his bed. At least it's safe back in his room. Comfy within the very thin blanket. But then the noises grew louder, and his curiosity got the better of him.

_Liar._

So he listened closely to the sounds and let his hearings guided him. It brought him up the stairs, through the hallway. Then he realised where he was actually going to and stopped, staring at the beautiful wooden door before him with widened eyes. The sounds were coming from here. He's sure of it. It's loud enough that there's no way he's mistaking it now. But that was no ordinary door. No, that wasn't.

That was 'big brother's room.

_Liar, liar, liaaarrrr! You already knew! You knew what happened there! You already knew, knew, knew! Admit it now! You were afraid. You were afraid of admitting it yourself. You knew what was happening there. Yet you decided to do that. It's your fault. Your fault for being so stupidly naive. What, were you hoping that if you peeked inside, it would all turn out to be a lie?_

But what if there was some problem, then the Dutch needed his help? He can't afford angering the man any further _(Because 'brother' can be really, really scary if he's angry. It will hurt. It hurts so much_)_. _So he gulped, and mustered all the bravery he had. His fingers reached out to grab the polished doorknob.

_You're afraid. You're afraid, Indische. You're not supposed to be afraid. Why should you?_

It felt like hours, when his tiny fingers reached out to touch the shiny metal so, so slowly. As if the doorknob was alive and would bite his hands off the first chance it got. But then the tip of his fingers touched the cold metal, and it sent shivers down the little boy's spine. His fingers holds the doorknob firmly. And very, very slowly he turned the knob. Slowly, slowly, so that it will not create a sound. As he can't turn the knob anymore, he pushes the wooden door just as slowly.

And then he saw.

_Not really, Indische. You already knew._

It was the sight of a young girl. Sweet and cute with shoulder length wavy hair. Belgium. Completely naked over an equally clothe-less Netherlands. Huffing and panting and moaning. Gentle kisses on every surface of skin each can find, beads of salty sweat rolling down pale skin.

It was painful.

No, this isn't like the pain of imperialism. This isn't the pain that he, as a nation felt. No. This feels... different. It was as if the pain came from somewhere closer. It was as if it was **him **who was hurt, not Indische. His core, his very being.

Wide-eyed, he took a few steps back. Back, back until his back touched the stair railing behind him. As if the touch electrocuted him, he was snapped back to reality.

And then he ran.

* * *

_What is a nation?_

_It's an embodiment of people with the same ideology, culture, and habits. It's a group of people who found themselves in the same situation and therefore fights together to reach the same vision. A nation is its people. Its people's ideology, thought, feel._

_Then who is he?_

_No. It wasn't Indische. It wasn't his people that didn't want to leave. It's not his people that has their heart thumps hard whenever a pipe-smoking man passes through his house. No. His people are screaming for freedom. For freedom and equality and to live._

_If that's it, who is he?_

_

* * *

_

*The wind blows hard. It blows strands of his hair away from his face, revealing a set of hardened onyx eyes on a small, young and tanned face. It was our little boy (_No, not Indische. It's Indonesia. His name is Indonesia now. For he does not belong to anyone other than himself.)_. From a far, the sight of a huge, white ship floating on the blue-green water of the dock can be seen. It's enough though. It's enough. He can see just enough even from this far.

Silver. Spiky silver was blown by the wind. Whipped everywhere just like our little boy's own. Once again, those eyes were gazing at somewhere other than the boy. Anyone, anything other than him. He gritted his teeth, but said nothing. He's going to be brave. He's going to show the world that he, The Republic of Indonesia can actually stand on his own feet. Standing tall and strong.

_How ironic is that? The wind dances when they met. Now, when they're to be parted... That silver hair is just as beautiful as it has been the first time they met._

A loud honk echoes throughout the area. The little boy was unfazed by the loud sound however. He stood tall, his chin lifted in an almost arrogant way. He's not going to back down now. No matter how much he wants to. Because now, he's Indonesia.

His eyes followed the movement of the silver-haired man on the deck. Giving orders to people and exchanging small talks with some random people on the ship.

Then a pair of emerald flashed at him.

The boy's eyes widened. He can't believe his eyes. Because finally, finally, Netherlands looked at him. Those emerald eyes are not averted to the sea below or to the vast horizon. It was to him. Those emerald eyes. Him.

And the winds whispered to his ears, bringing a swear, a promise long forgotten. He smiled brightly, up to the heavens.

"I'll send you some Palapa* later."

_"Lamun huwus kalah nusantara isun amukti palapa, lamun kalah ring Gurun, ring Seran, Tañjung Pura, ring Haru, ring Pahang, Dompo, ring Bali, Sunda, Palembang, Tumasik, samana isun amukti palapa"_

_

* * *

_

_**I want to buy some astronomy books for my own birthday~**_

*Honest. I'm telling you, loads of fruits and trees and all that doesn't need to be planted or to be cared of to live and to bear fruits. They're tasty too~

* Spain and Portuguese. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a bit. Spain and Portuguese only attacked the Sumatran Island. But then Spain got beaten up by Portuguese and fled to Philiphine. There's no murder in /that/ scale, but I think Indo's way of exaggerating is understandable since before, he has never been conquered by any countries before. So since this was his first, he was rather shocked.

*I Gusti is the Javanese people's name for their God. Why did I pick Javanese? The most populated island duh.

*That's Netherlands in case you hadn't noticed. They arrived as a group of merchants, who later attacked then conquered Indonesia.

*I deleted the Japanese invasion (and British invasion for 4 years) part. Why? Because this is 5 am and I haven't slept a wink to work on this fic (I've just got to post this on my bday!). Maybe if you guys would like me to complete this fic, I'll do it. Just tell me.

*This is an inside thing. You see, long ago, Indonesia was divided into hundreds of kingdoms. There's this very, very big kingdom called Majapahit. Majapahit had a general named Gajah Mada who one day swore to connect all the areas in Indonesia under the Majapahit kingdom, and until he managed to do so, he won't eat this fruit called 'Palapa'. So, since Indonesia is already united as one, Indo told this general to relax and eat his fruit since everything's completed.

**A/N:** So, I'm finished. This is 5am at the day I was born. And I'm sleepy. Really, I haven't sleep at all. So whatever. I wanna sleep now, and correct this in the morning when I'm sober enough to do so. Bye, RnR for my birthday present! See you this morning! *snores*


End file.
